25. Fuck the Universe
At least Silver is excited.The minute I pull into Brant”s driveway, he scampers across the backseat, left to right to left to right, again and again. Finally, he settles on the right side. The side that faces the entry to Brant”s house.
”Just friends,” I tell Silver as his wet nose leaves a crosshatch of marks on the window. That”s all this is. No pressure for anything else. No expectations. It”s what we both want. So why did it feel like someone dropped a weight inside my stomach when Brant said those words yesterday? ”You ready, boy?” Silver looks up at me. His brown eyes are wide, and his tail is beating the back of the seat like he”s a Victorian-era shopkeeper who just caught it stealing from him. As I unlatch my seatbelt, his entire body sways side-to-side. I can so relate. My insides are doing the same thing.
When we get to the door, Brant is waiting for us. He”s all in black except for a bright blue apron that says ”Grill, you”re about to meat your match.” I think it might be the stupidest thing I”ve ever seen, especially on a man who is the size of a literal wall.
”Already making you giggle,” he says. ”We”re off to a fine start. Hey there Silver.” He kneels so they”re eye-level. Silver wags right up to him and plants kisses all over his face like they”re old friends, and any hope I had that he might be on my side tonight is gone. ”I rubbed raw chicken on my face, just to make sure I”d win him over.”
”And some people think athletes aren”t very bright.”
”Can you believe those people? You want a lick too?” He stands and puts his cheek so close to my face I feel the heat from it. So close I can see the individual hairs of his rough stubble. I want to run a finger along his skin and feel each hair catch on the ridges of my fingertips, and I want to run back to my car and never see him again. Before I can do either one, he laughs. ”You look lovely.” His eyes catch on mine just a fraction of a second before he turns and ushers us into the house.
I wondered if this outfit was too much. It”s a dinner for friends, but here I am in an ivory and black floral blouse and black heels. And the same black pants I wore at the funeral. My first instinct was to wear a dress, but I was afraid that might make him think I want this to be something other than just friendship. This outfit was supposed to be the safer choice. I should have worn jeans. Sweatpants. Maybe an old concert t-shirt. ”Uh, thanks. You... you do too.”
His back is to me now. His black button-up shirt hugs him and shows the inverted triangle that leads my eyes from his shoulders down to an ass that is showcased nicely by pants that fit him perfectly. He whips his head around to look at me, and I wonder if he caught me staring. ”I was talking to Silver. But you look nice too.” He cracks into a smile and that damn eyebrow thing he does without even knowing the effect it has on me. ”Dinner is almost ready. Want a beer while we wait? Hold on. I don”t even know if you drink? I know a lot of people here don”t.”
”Yes. Please.” I would drink the entire case right now. ”And we need to talk about Sebastian.”
Brant stares at me for a second as he rounds the island and moves into the kitchen. ”The security person who stands outside the dressing room door?”
”That”s Stephanie. Wrong name and wrong gender. My car. Sebastian is my car, and we need to talk?—”
”You named your car?”
”Everyone names their cars.” Brant shrugs as he opens the refrigerator. ”You don”t name your car?”
”Never have. Why would I? It”s a car.”
”Because it”s not just a—” I huff out a breath. ”Anyway Sebastian. Did the mechanic do anything other than the bumper?” He looks up. Two beers in his left hand and guilt all over his face. ”Brant! You can”t do things like this!”
”Did they make it worse? I”ll take it back and make sure they do it right this time. I”ll make sure they fire the person who did it wrong.”
”Stop. He”s perfect now.”
Brant reaches across the counter and smiles as he hands me the beer. ”Oh good.”
”Not good. Sebastian isn”t perfect. That”s part of his charm. That”s all of his charm, actually.”
He narrows his eyes and starts to say something before deciding to blow out a breath instead.
”You can”t just go around fixing everyone”s cars.”
”Only yours. Should I be sorry? Sorry I made your car better and safer for you?”
”Just forget I said anything.” I turn away from him and face the living room. The very stark living room. Its walls are bright white and mostly blank, other than a few black and white prints. The furniture is all black. There aren”t even any throw pillows. The floor looks like it”s dark grey concrete. It”s cold. And nothing at all like Brant.
”Hey.” He moves in front of me so I have nowhere to look but at him. And at those face and those eyes. ”I wanted to do it for you.”
I close my eyes to avoid looking at him. ”I don”t like people doing things for me. It makes me feel…” Helpless. The way I felt when I first came out. When everyone except Dad left me. ”I just don”t like the way it makes me feel.”
I hear him take a few breaths before I finally flutter my eyes open to find all of his attention on me. ”Then I need to apologize because there”s something about you that makes me want to do things for you.” It already feels like he”s standing on top of me, but somehow he takes a step closer. I wonder how our bodies aren”t touching. But when I look down, there”s still an impossible gap between us. ”I need you to get used to it, because I”m not going to stop.”
”I can take care of myself.” I lean back until the top of the island digs into my back, but it”s still less uncomfortable than being this close to him. Isn”t there always a timer that goes off just about now in these situations? Please let a timer go off. I wait for a moment, but there”s no sound except the blood pulsing in my ears.
”I know. I see it. That”s one of the things I like about you.” He sets his beer onto the counter beside me and keeps his arm there to trap me between him and the wall.
My lungs don”t want to work with him this close to me. I need to get him away. ”Your house doesn”t… there”s not much color.” I have to force the words.
”Says the girl who lives in a practically empty house. What is your story, Lily? What are you doing here?”
I only had two sips of the beer, but the world is spinning. Why does talking about it seem like both the easiest and hardest thing in the world? My dad was so proud of me that he would talk about me to anyone who would listen. Even those who wouldn”t listen still heard about me and the things I was doing. It seemed like he would tell me at least once a week about someone he ran into. A relative, an old friend, a former church member. No matter who it was, he loved telling them about me. Telling them that one day I would be the lead trainer for the Colorado Lightning. That I would be the one running out to the mound when a pitcher landed wrong. The way he said it made it sound like I would be the star, like everyone in the stands would be there just to see me jog out of the dugout with the manager at my side. But I can”t even say three words about him now? The only person in my life that I knew in my gut I could count on no matter what?
Because I know if I start talking about him, I need to say it all. There”s no way for anyone to understand my relationship with him without knowing the past, and I”ve spent most of my lifetime trying to bury that past so I would never have to face it again. I”ve never wanted to tell anyone before. Em is always telling me I need to be more open and let people in. Against my better judgement, I tried with Tyler, and look where that got me. But I want to tell Brant. The realization hits me like a wave that picks me off my feet while wading in the ocean. I want him to know this. I want him to know me. ”Do you really want to know?”
He angles his head down and smolders at me. I don”t know how the hell a person smolders, but he”s doing it right now. And it”s directed straight at me. ”I want to know everything about you.”
”For the competition?”
”No. For me.”
I hear my shakiness as I draw in a deep breath. ”I”m here because of my dad. He—” Of course the exact second I get the courage to let this man in, is the exact moment when the oven timer finally goes off. ”You should get that.”
”It can wait.”
”It smells incredible.” The beep has to be a sign, right? It has to be the universe saving me from making the second biggest mistake of my life. ”Go.”
Brant doesn”t go anywhere. ”I think you might be secretly incredible.” He traces a finger down my forearm. His light touch pulls every bit of air from my lungs and raises goosebumps on every bit of skin, and while his finger is gliding down my arm, his mouth is moving closer to mine. It”s one of those moments where everything seems so slow. The way it does when something is either so horrible or so perfect that our brains just can”t process it at real speed. I tilt my head, just enough to give room for our noses to slip beside each other. Then I close my eyes and wait for that magical moment when a symphonic wave of electrical fireworks will bloom as his mouth comes down on mine like an earthquake or maybe a tsunami. All the cliches. I want every single one of them. Instead of that, I hear the patter of claws on the concrete floor. I open my eyes and see that Brant is already looking down. Silver is at our feet. An enormous dog curling his way through a space that”s barely big enough for a cat. As he turns around for another pass, he looks so pleased at being able to pet himself from both sides. If the universe hadn”t made itself clear with the timer, it certainly does now.
”You should get the oven,” I say.
He blows out a breath. ”I should get the oven.”
Brant walks around the kitchen island, and I”m like a swimmer caught in a riptide, dragged right behind him. I”m so close that he has to wait for me to step back to give room for the oven door to swing open.
”You must be hungry.”
So much hungrier than I thought. I shuffle backward across the kitchen until my back hits against this side of the island. Beer. I need my beer. I don”t hesitate as I tip it back and finish it all in four enormous gulps. When I look back down, Brant is staring at me. His grin is lopsided and one eyebrow is quirked up. Fucking eyebrow.
”I probably should have asked before now, but you do like frozen pizza, I hope?”
I shake my head. ”You”re not wearing the outfit of someone who cooked frozen pizza.” But now I do recognize the scent of basil and cooked tomato.
”And I don”t mean those frozen pizzas that are almost the same price as ordering from a pizza joint. I mean the cheap ones. Smith”s had a sale last week. Ten pizzas for ten dollars. You should see my basement freezer, loaded with every flavor imaginable. Three cheese, four cheese, extra meat, meat lovers, meat lovers who are also cheese lovers. The selection is spectacular.”
”You invite a girl over and then try to lure her to your basement? What am I supposed to think about you, Brant Morrison? Should I be scared?”
”Are you?”
Yes.
He opens the door, and for a second, I think he really did bake a frozen pizza. And that would be fine with me. I”ve eaten so many in my life I would never look down my nose at a slice. But when he grabs a metal pizza peel that was slotted beside the oven, I know this isn”t a frozen pizza.
He slips the metal under the pizza and pulls it from the oven while spinning around to the wood cutting board on the counter to his right. His motions are almost balletic, a reminder that this man has spent his entire life training the way his body moves. He drizzles olive oil in a growing circle over the pizza. Then he takes a handful of fresh basil and rips it before sprinkling the torn leaves. ”I hope you don”t mind, but I really like the combination of fresh and cooked basil.”
”No, that”s fine.” I walk up behind him. The pizza is some shape between a circle and an oval. The red sauce is spread to within an inch of the edges, leaving a swollen outer crust. And instead of the even layer of cheese I”m used to, there are irregular dots of white. Their edges oozing into the sauce. Over it all is the green of the basil. ”This is homemade?” I ask.
Brant turns, and when his elbow brushes me, I realize how close I”ve gotten to him. I jump back to put space between us, but he shoots an arm around me and pulls me right back to him. ”I”ve got you.”
”I wasn”t falling.”
”Are you sure?”
I nod my head.
”So, my arm around your back?”
”Totally unnecessary,” I say.
”Then I should let go.”
I should say yes. ”It would be hard to cut the pizza while holding on to me.”
”I”m a goalie. I can do amazing things with my hands.”
Just friends, just friends, just friends.And a friend wouldn”t take what he just said as an invitation. But the way that muscle at the side of his jaw keeps tensing and releasing makes me wonder what he really wants. ”Is that so?”
He turns us around so fast I gasp and then he marches us the two steps to the counter. Once again, its hard edge presses into my back. Something even harder presses into my front.
”Brant?”
”Do you want me to let you go?”
There have only been a few things in my life that I”ve wanted less. ”Yes.” It sounds like a squeak, not a word.
”If you mean it, you”ll have to say it louder than that.”
He shifts. His cock rubs against me. And it has been way too long since I”ve had sex with anything other than the toys in my drawer. Maybe one time wouldn”t be bad. One time to get it out of our systems. But what if people at work found out? My mind goes back to yesterday”s practice. ”Why were the guys looking at me strange yesterday?”
”What guys?” I swear he growls the words as if he”s an animal protecting its turf.
”At practice. Sammy and Nikita. And Milo too, now that I think about it.”
”I don”t know. I”m sure it was nothing.”
None of them acted strange in the sessions after practice, so maybe it really was nothing. But if Brant and I do anything tonight, then I”ll spend the rest of the season analyzing their looks even more than I already am. Every time one of them says something that could be taken in two different ways, I”ll wonder if they know.
”Lily, I”m sure it was?—”
”We can”t do this.” I spin away from his arm. He could hold me in place if he wanted to, but he lets me go. ”We can”t. You asked me earlier why I was here. Back in Salt Lake. My dad died.” I”ve never said it aloud to anyone other than Em when I first got the news. Hearing it in my voice makes it too real. There”s a sudden weight pressing in my throat, trying to keep me from saying anything more, but I need to. ”My dad died, and he was everything in my life. So now I have nothing. Nothing except one friend, who is the most amazing and badass friend I could ever ask for. But she”s not here. I just have that fucking house where every nail hole in the wall and every empty space on those fucking bookshelves reminds me of him. And I know I made a deal, but there are days—every day—when I wish I didn”t. But what kind of daughter am I if I just back out of that? After everything. What kind of daughter would that make me?”
Brant raises his hands slowly, as if he”s afraid he might spook me. And he does spook me. Because I”m afraid that if he hugs me right now, I”ll give in and everything will be over. But he just rests his hands on my shoulder. Safe, letting me know that he”s here with no pressure. ”Lily, I don’t know what deal you”re talking about. But I know you”re wrong when you say you have nothing. You”re so very wrong about that part.”
I know the universe was stopping me earlier. I”d be a fool to go against the collective weight of all existence when it”s trying to keep me out of trouble. But fuck the universe. ”I”m trans.” The words come out too loud. ”I”m transgender, and for the longest time—until I met Em—Dad was the only person in the world who accepted me for me, and now he”s gone. So I mean it when I say I have nothing. And now that I”m telling you this, you”re gone and my job is gone, and thanks to fucking Tyler, my credit score might as well be the negative square root of an imaginary number.” And I know just two seconds ago, I didn”t want him to hug me, but now that”s all I want. I step into him and bury my head in his shoulder as I wrap my arms around him.
”I don”t know what that means.”
I huff into his shoulder. ”It means that my gender identity?—”
”No, I know that. I mean, I don”t know why that should mean anything to me. I like you, and I want us to be friends. This doesn”t affect that. Should it?”
Friends.Shouldn”t it make me feel better that he still wants to be friends? Just friends. ”It”s the way the world works. People either think I”m some monster, or they go overboard the other direction to prove that they”re one of the good people, even though I know the reason they go so overboard is that they just want to be praised for being one of the good people.”
He squeezes me. ”You feel that, right?” I murmur something that I intended to be a yes. ”You said I would be gone now that you told me, but that feels like I”m still here. I”m not going anywhere, Lily. I don”t know if I”m a good person, but I know I”m a friend who”s still right here with you.”
”You did try to lure me into the basement earlier, so I think we both know about the ”good person” part.”
”It”s true. I’m a serial killer who targets innocent pizza-loving women, and now that I”ve decided you”re going to be my victim, there”s nothing you can do.”
”Can I at least eat the pizza before you murder me and cut me into tiny pieces that you”ll hide inside the hollow cinder blocks along the basement wall?”
”Wow, you”ve actually thought about this.”
His hands slide just a little lower on the small of my back. ”I watch a lot of true crime shows.”